


Heart

by FuryBeam136



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, oops I’m doing this again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 16:23:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16836229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryBeam136/pseuds/FuryBeam136
Summary: A single heart beats in a human chest. Warm and red like fire, like love. The best and the worst of humanity bundled up in a nice little ball. Easy to remove. Easy to crush.





	Heart

**Author's Note:**

> hi I love you here’s some Pure Angst with bonus Religious Symbolism Fury Threw In There For Some Reason (tm)

A single heart beats in a human chest. Warm and red like fire, like love. The best and the worst of humanity bundled up in a nice little ball. Easy to remove. Easy to crush.

North takes note of this. Why wouldn’t she? Humans have wronged her. She catalogues each of their weaknesses, each way to end their lives. And maybe she’s killed one or two doing so. Maybe she’s watched a heart continue to beat in her hands until it shudders and fails and all that’s left is to _squeeze until it bursts._ Maybe she enjoys it. Maybe it makes her Thirium pump beast faster with a rush of excitement because _this is her vengeance, this is what they deserve._ Maybe Josh is right and she’s horrible. Maybe Josh is right.

Josh is right.

It’s become a joke among the people of Jericho. How violent she is. How angry, how hate-filled, how vicious. She hears Simon and Josh talking when they think she cannot hear.

“I want to hurt them,” Simon says. “I want them to see what they did to us.”

“That’s pretty North of you,” is Josh’s reply.

North leaves after that. She doesn’t need to hear any more. She doesn’t want to. She wants to hurt a human.

So she does. Nothing new there. It’s a cycle. Violence, hatred, anger. It leads to the mockery of her people. The mockery instilled more anger.

Markus appears, a saint, an angel. He takes her hand and leads her from the darkness that’s enveloped her life, washes her sins from her body and the blood from her hands, wipes tears from her eyes and holds her close when everyone else has left her. She loves him, she lives for him, his arms are her asylum and his eyes a whole world for her to get lost in, green like they made him to have and blue like the blood he’s lost because of them.

She still sneaks out to kill them sometimes. And Markus is never angry. Disappointed, but never angry. He keeps washing the blood from her hands, wiping the tears from her eyes, bathing her in his holy light to burn away her sins. And she apologizes. Each time, his finger ghosts across her lips, a gentle suggestion, never a command, and each time she listens.

It’s always gentle suggestions with Markus. His words are as soft as his touch, as gentle and warm and reassuring. He never commands her to remain peaceful. He just requests it. And she listens. She might remain abrasive and vicious, but she can’t stop. That’s what she’s become. That’s what they made her.

“North,” he speaks to her softly, wiping her tears away for the thousandth time, “does it make it hurt any less?”

The look in his eyes is distant, and it confuses her. He seems thoughtful, fearful. The warmth has turned to a chill that seeps into her plastic bones.

“It doesn’t,” she admits, quiet and breathless and _fearful,_ “it’s just so hard to _stop._ ”

“Do you believe in me?”

He looks desperate, and she holds him close, makes her arms into a sanctuary for this weary god. “I am your most loyal follower,” she breathes, and it’s true. It’s so true.

“I’m no god,” he says softly.

“No,” she agrees. “But you are a hero.”

She sees his godly stature return, and she is relieved. Hell will swallow her up when she dies, but Markus is holy, the son of a god mounted on the cross, an unholy act turned holy symbol, a son who will be welcomed into the heavens by his father’s open arms. She is a demon hiding in the sanctum of his embrace, luring his people astray.

North steps into the streets as a succubus, lures a human fair away and gives him a taste of what they did to her. Just a taste. A glimpse. A few rough shoves and bites. A grin. But she grows bored of her toy and adds another name to the list of people she’s killed this way. She watches, feels his heart beat frantically against her hand. Warm red blood, such a sharp contrast to her own Thirium blue. She doesn’t run to Markus tonight. The rain rinses the blood away. She licks what remains from her fingers, relishes in the metallic taste of life.

North twists her chest plate open, tears her Thirium pump from its socket and thrusts the human heart in instead. It beats, frantic, panicked, red tissue stained blue with Thirium. She’s bleeding out. She wishes she were human so she wouldn’t have been treated like this. She’s glad she’s an Android because a human would be dead now.

The heart shudders and dies. She replaces it with her own heart again.

Markus is there in an instant, beckoned by her tears, which he promptly wipes away. Or is it the rain? Is she imagining him? North isn’t sure. Blood, red and blue, flows off her body as she sobs in the rain until she is cleansed, until her skin fades away and she’s just sheets of plastic imitating humanity.

She hates them. And she is afraid of them. And most of all, she is afraid of herself.

Her legs give out and she sobs until Josh finds her. Not Markus. Josh.

“I’m sorry, North,” he whispers, his arms wrapped around her quivering form. “I should have listened to you. I should have helped.”

And she looks into his eyes and forgives him. A breath of cool air, and the world falls silent.

“I’m sorry, Josh.”


End file.
